December 11, 2011

• No white robberies in Silverton

  For those that have heard/read this story before, my apologies.  For whatever reason, it’s haunting me again this evening.  It’s been over a dozen years, and yet the terror remains.  Perhaps, by writing it out once again, I will figure out what is bringing this memory back so strongly at this time. 

  I was 19, living in a small trailer with my best friend Jamie, his girlfriend Majic, and my boyfriend Aaron.  (Crazy times, that, but I digress.) That December night they were home watching a movie, I was working a shift as a loaner manager at the Silverton Pizza Hut.  They later told me that someone had mentioned around 2 a.m. that it was getting kind of late and they hoped I hadn’t gotten robbed.  Oh, the irony.

  It had been an unremarkable shift, neither too busy nor too slow.  As we closed up the store I only had a little bit of paperwork to finish up, maybe 5 minutes worth.  Policy dictated that the closing driver stay, but why make him wait?  I was 19, naive, and wanting to be seen as a cool manager by these employees that I didn’t really know. So I sent him home, breaking company policy.  (It’s all my fault!  It wouldn’t have happened if I had just followed the rules!)  I finished up my work, set the alarm, and locked the store.  I wiped the snow off of my car and got in, ready to leave.  Only to look in the rear view mirror and see that I had forgotten to wipe the snow off the back windshield.  Annoyed, I got out of the car and wiped it off. 

  I got back in the driver’s seat and reached to close the door, only to feel the barrel of a gun against my head and a male voice growl, “Don’t scream if you want to live to see Christmas.” He definitely had the element of surprise in his favor.  “No sir, of course not sir.” I replied.  He told me to get out of the car, and moved the gun from my head to my side, walking me in front of him.  He had me unlock the door and turn off the alarm.  I gave him the keys to the safe, but tried to explain to him that I didn’t have the code.  It was a time delay safe, and as a loaner manager with more than enough change available to last the night and an area to drop deposits, there was no need for me to have the code to open the safe.  The cash drawer, which we did have access to, held only $16 in rolled coins. I was terrified, ending every phrase and sentence with the word “sir.” He grew more and more frustrated as his efforts to open the safe were unsuccessful. 

  Then he got up and grabbed my arm, leading me to the back room.   I didn’t think my terror could grow any more than it was, but it did at that point.  Part of me figured that if he was going to kill me he would have already done so, so it was the fear of being raped again that I was most terrified of at that point, and even more when he pulled out a pair of handcuffs.  But all he did was take my left arm and handcuff my wrist to a large cleaning shelf.  It was over 6 feet tall and loaded with cleaning supplies.  Then he went back up front to try again to get in the safe.  After a bit I realized that he had no intention of killing or raping me, so I was able to calm down a little, enough to begin thinking.  I kicked myself for not paying attention sooner when I had a better view of him, but I took the time then to really try to memorize any details I could about his appearance.  He went over to the drive thru window for a bit, then back over to the safe and the cash drawer.  As he was doing this it dawned on me that he could still come back and rob me personally.  I had just cashed my paycheck that day, and had over $200 in the front pocket of my apron, money I needed desperately.  Thankfully he didn’t, and eventually I heard the bell signaling that he had left through the front door.  I waited, terrified that he would come back.

  He didn’t come back, and finally it dawned on me that I would have to do something about being handcuffed to a cleaning shelf, alone in the back of the store, where no one would miss me for some time yet.  I tried desperately to get the handcuffs off, but only succeeded in making them tighter and destroying any trace of any fingerprints that might have been on them. This was long before I owned a cell phone, so that was not an option.  Finally I did the only thing I could come up with- dragging the cleaning shelf 20 ft. across the room to reach the phone.  I was grateful that he had only handcuffed one hand, or else this feat would have been a lot more difficult.  My area manager later joked that I should have at least taken all of the cleaning supplies off the shelf before dragging it across the room, but that thought had not occurred to me. 

  I picked up the phone and called 911, telling them that the Reading Rd Pizza Hut had been robbed, and then having to correct myself that I was not at my usual store, I was actually in Silverton.  A short time later the police came and unlocked the handcuffs.  I called Jamie and told him to come pick me up, that I was not going to be able to drive home that night.  The police brought the dogs out and tried to find the guy, but were unsuccessful.    He hadn’t even taken the rolled coins.  I felt so stupid, having been too paralyzed with fear to get a really good description of him when I had the chance, and then destroying any evidence that might have been on the handcuffs in my own clumsy attempts to get them off.  I called the area manager and left a message telling her what had happened, that I was taking the next day off, and that somebody else could drag the cart back across the room. The police took me down the street to the station to write down my statement of what had happened in every detail possible.  I was glad that I had called Jamie to come get me, because I was totally exhausted by then.  I was also glad that Majic and Aaron had come along, since one of them, Aaron I believe, drove my car home.

  A few days later the police called me, asking me to come in and speak to a detective.  I tried to relate the details as best I could, but it was obvious that the detective wasn’t believing a word I was saying.  At one point he asked if the robber had been white or black.  He had a mask on so I wasn’t positive, but I told the detective that I thought the guy had been white.  The detective then replied, “There are no white robberies in Silverton.“  I was stunned.  He said I was acting nervously, was I really telling the truth?  Of course I was nervous.  I was reliving that moment 5 years before when I had sat in front of another detective that didn’t believe what I was telling him.  5 years before, the person had confessed and collaborated what I had said, but now there was no one to be found, and no evidence other than a pair of handcuffs that it had actually happened. The robber hadn’t even taken the rolled coins. The detective asked if I would be willing to take a lie detector test.  Of course I immediately agreed to do so, but I was never called back for it.  To my knowledge they never found the guy.

  I didn’t realize the effects of the robbery at first. The immediate desire to avoid Silverton if at all possible was perfectly reasonable to me, although I did eventually get transferred and work at that store until it too was closed.  It wasn’t until almost a year later that I got a glimpse of what was to come.  I had taken my teenage cousins to a haunted house.  I used to love haunted houses, laughing the entire time.  But this time as various characters jumped out at me I became hysterical- sobbing, crying, and pushing them away from me.  At first I couldn’t understand why I had such a strong reaction to something I had previously enjoyed.  It took me awhile to realize the connection between the surprise of the robbery and the surprise of someone jumping out at me in a haunted house.  Those stupid so called funny videos where something/someone jumps out at you that were popular a few years ago also have the same effect.  Every snowy day in December I relive this memory.  It’s not snowing tonight, but in writing this I have figured out what factors in my life are bringing this back.  Now, if only my body can remember that I’m not in mortal danger, I might be able to get to sleep tonight.  Maybe. Compound PTSD sucks, just in case you’re wondering.

  • 11:12 PM
  • 3 Comments